


Here We Are As In Olden Days

by authoressnebula (authoressjean)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Big Brother Dean Winchester, Christmas, Episode Tag, Episode: s03e08 A Very Supernatural Christmas, Flashback, Gen, Good Parent John Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Dean Winchester, Season/Series 03, Slight torture, Weechester, warning for a young hurt Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:54:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24290023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/authoressjean/pseuds/authoressnebula
Summary: Post 3x08 AU: Dean's worried about Sam and how he's feeling after Mr. and Mrs. Christmas went to town with them for the ritual. There's another reason for the worry, though.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 12
Kudos: 133





	Here We Are As In Olden Days

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in LiveJournal December 2007.

The game ended soon enough, but Dean found himself watching his brother more and more than he did the game. It wasn't that he was concerned. Sam had handled himself tonight just fine, between both of the gods. In fact, Sam had managed to take out Mrs. Christmas before Dean had taken out the husband. Kid was getting faster, and Dean was more and more certain that when he went in several months time, Sam would be fine on his own.

It was just that Dean was waiting for the fall-out of tonight. And he was concerned, mainly about Sam and Sam's fingernail and the lack thereof.

“Sure your finger's okay?” Dean asked casually, and Sam snorted.

“It's _fine_ , Dean,” Sam said, swiveling his head over towards him with an exasperated look of fondness on his face. “My arm's fine, too. You're the one who got sliced and bled out more.”

“I didn't lose a friggin' _fingernail_ ,” Dean pointed out, but Sam just rolled his eyes and turned back to the final wrap up of the game.

So far, so good. But Dean wanted to make sure.

“You _sure_ your finger's okay?” Dean asked as they were just about to go to bed.

Sam sighed in such a way that his whole body sighed with him. Only Sam could pull something like that off. “I'm okay, Dean,” he said, turning to Dean. His face wasn't exasperated now, and only a soft, knowing smile greeted him. “I know what this is about, and I'm fine, I really am. Don't worry about me, okay? Least he didn't take all five, and it'll grow back. I know it will.”

“Yeah, past experience tends to help knowledge on certain things,” Dean muttered, but slid into bed. Then, “You'd tell me, you know, if you weren't...?”

“Dean, have I _ever_ had a problem talking to you and telling you how I feel?” Sam said, grinning now.

Dean rolled his eyes and turned away, muttering under his breath. From behind him, he could hear Sam chuckle, then the rustling of sheets as Sam climbed into bed.

Maybe they'd be okay. Dean fell asleep trying to make himself believe it.

  
  
  


_Monsters were real. He knew this not because Dean had finally told him the truth, or even because Dad had finally broken down and confessed about it all when Sam had pushed hard enough, with Dean making signals to cut it out in the background._

_No, Sam knew it because he was trapped by one right now._

_It had him tied by his ankle to one of the poles in the basement, and Sam was desperately trying to undo the well-done knot. He needed to get out, get back to safety, and that meant getting back to Dad and Dean._

_Once they'd known that he'd known, Dad had started teaching Sam how to defend himself. They'd gone off for dinner tonight, and hadn't come back._

_Then it had come through the door, grinning even as Sam had fumbled with the gun._

_Hissing made him turn, and his wide eyes took in all of the creature. It looked almost human, but a human whose skin was coming off, melting like the Wicked Witch of the West. It was gross and scary, and it was coming right for him._

_“Need all of you,” it rasped. “All of you so I can walk again amongst the men.”_

_“My dad's gonna kick your...your ASS,” Sam managed to get out, tongue tripping over the forbidden swear word. Dean used it when he was scared, and it seemed to make him braver._

_It only made Sam more scared that he got to use it and there was no one to tell him it was wrong for an eight year old to say it._

_“Daddy's not here,” it whispered, before bending down and grabbing his arm, pulling him away from the pole until Sam couldn't go any further. Sam fought to pull his arm back, but it had too tight a grip around his wrist. So tight a grip, even, that it easily pulled Sam's fist into a flat hand._

_“And Daddy's not ever coming for you,” it said, right before it grabbed his index fingernail with its talons and pulled._

_Sam screamed, and he didn't stop until it had pulled all five of his fingernails from his right hand. It placed them delicately on the floor behind it, and Sam managed to pull away at long last, sobbing and clutching his bleeding hand to his chest. Pain flooded through his hand, throbbing and making him want to throw up. He was afraid to look at his fingers._

_“There's nowhere to hide, child. No one to run to anyways. The hard part's over; with the fingernails gone, it makes it easier to pull the skin from your bones,” it hissed, looking pleased with itself, before it reached for him again._

_“NO!” Sam screamed. “DEAN!”_

  
  
  


He'd been afraid of this.

Sam had been too casual about the entire thing. It had been his frickin' _fingernail_ pulled out, and Dean should've known it wouldn't be this easy. Just slap a band-aid on it after Dean had looked at it and deemed him okay? Yeah, right.

He still woke with a start, however, when he heard a soft cry from the bed beside his. He turned to the left and found Sam tossing and turning, his face twisted in pain.

Dean blinked the last of his sleep from his eyes and sat up. “Sam,” he called softly, placing his feet on the cold floor. He winced but stood, calling his brother's name again.

Then Sam was shooting up, shouting, “DEAN!” at the top of his lungs, and Dean had him in his arms before he'd even registered having moved across from bed to bed.

“I gotcha Sammy, it's all right,” Dean said softly, refusing to let go even as Sam fought against him. Sam stopped when he'd turned towards Dean, and fingers that had once been pushing him away were now wrapping in his t-shirt, pulling him in closer. “It's all right,” Dean said again, settling onto his left hipbone and bringing his left leg up into a crooked position on the bed. Uncomfortable, but Dean'd rather have had it broken then have let go of Sam right then.

Sam was shaking now in his arms, trying desperately not to break down. “I've got you,” Dean said quietly, and the words were so like what he'd said when Sam had died that he had to look down to see that Sam was still shaking in his arms. He swallowed hard. “I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere. I've got you, I've got you, shhh shhh shhh.”

He could feel hot tears on his neck, and Dean closed his eyes. There was another night being remembered right now, and they'd almost lost Sam that night, too.

They'd gone out to pick up pizza, him and his dad, before returning to find the hotel room a mess. They'd been tailing a skin-walker for the past week, and they'd found its lair earlier in the day. Looked like it had tailed _them_ this time, found out where they'd been holed up, and had taken the most valuable thing out of the room.

Sam.

  
  
  


_Dean slid out of the car in time to hear his brother scream. Not shout, not cry, scream, and the hairs on his neck had stood up at the sound even while his heart lurched in his chest._

_He grabbed a weapon and followed his dad inside, even while he silently pleaded to anyone who would listen. Please not Sammy. Please not Sammy. Don't take him away from me. Please not Sammy. I need Sammy. Please. He wasn't supposed to be involved, he wasn't supposed to KNOW, it's my fault, oh god it's my fault, I told him I told him I TOLD him, got him into this, Sammy I'm sorry please not Sammy. Please no._

_They followed the screams, now sobs, down into the basement. John nodded to Dean and they burst through the doors, hurrying down, breaking their own rules about entering a fight and encountering a demon._

_Sam was involved. All rules could go hang themselves, as far as Dean was concerned._

_The skin-walker rounded on them, hissing, but John shot it straight in the chest, knocking it back against the far wall. He pulled the silver blade from his coat and threw it, hitting it straight in the heart. He didn't bother to check to make sure it was dead; he had more pressing concerns._

_Dean was already crouched next to Sam, his heart thudding painfully against his rib cage. “Sammy?” he said, hand trembling as he reached out to gently cup his brother's face. “Sammy, you okay?” Besides the bloody ankle that was tied to the pole, Dean was certain that Sam was just scared._

_Then Sam looked up, tears rolling from his shell-shocked eyes, and Dean caught sight of the hand Sam had been curled around. “Oh god, Dad,” Dean said helplessly, trying to breathe deep. Sam needed him to be strong right now, not fall apart._

_But Sam's fingernails were missing, and there was blood dripping down his hand onto his other hand that was holding the injured one, onto his shirt that was ripped, and Sam was trying so hard not to cry that it just made Dean want to cry himself._

_John draped his coat over Sam's shoulders and made quick work of the rope, simply cutting it instead of removing it. It was going to hurt when they pulled it away from Sam's skin, but Dean didn't really think Sam was going to care._

_He glanced around the cold basement, his eyes finally catching on five perfect, bloody fingernails on the floor. He moved towards them, but John pulled him back._

_“They'll grow back, you can't put them back on,” John said gently but firmly. “I need you to help me, Dean. I need you to help me help Sam.”_

_“D-Dad?” Sam stammered, and Dean didn't like the way his little brother sounded. He moved back over to Sam, trying to give his brother a reassuring smile._

_“You're gonna be fine, Sammy,” he said, even as John tenderly lifted Sam into his arms, keeping the coat wrapped around him._

_“We're here, Sam,” John said softly. “Dad's got you, I'm right here. I'm right here baby boy. Shhh, I've got you. I'm not gonna let go, promise.”_

_“Is it-t...is it...” Sam whispered, tears in his eyes, and Dean turned his eyes on the skin-walker, watching its body begin to melt fully now that it was dead. Couldn't get any deader, but Dean pulled his gun out from his waistband and fired straight into its head._

_Then he turned back to Sam. “It's dead, and it's not coming back,” Dean swore. “I promise, Sammy.”_

_Sam closed his eyes and leaned his head into John's chest. John gazed at Dean for a moment before slowly nodding his approval. “Let's get him out of here,” was all he said, and it was Dean who nodded in approval this time before following them up and out._

  
  
  


“I was scared it'd gotten you guys.”

The quiet voice pulled Dean from his memories. “What?”

“The skin-walker told me you guys weren't coming for me,” Sam said softly. His voice was rough from crying. “I thought it had gotten you both. God I was scared.”

“You and me both,” Dean admitted quietly. The image of his brother bound to the pole, tears pooling in his eyes, with his hand covered in blood, wasn't one he was over quite yet. Probably wouldn't be, up until the day he died.

Sam pulled in a shuddering breath and leaned further into Dean. His fingers tightened ever so slightly into Dean's t-shirt, and suddenly Dean knew he was wrong. Wrong about it all.

Sam wasn't going to be okay when he died. Sam was going to be the furthest from okay anyone could get. He needed Dean just as much as Dean needed him. Needed someone to yell and worry for him when he was bled and tortured for a ritual, needed someone to untie him and help him run like hell for safety behind closed doors. Needed someone to gently clean him up and bandage him and tell him he'd be okay.

“Oh god,” he whispered, eyes widening in horror.

“What?” He could feel Sam shifting to look up at him.

“I'm leaving you on your own,” Dean said, turning to stare at Sam. “When I go, I won't be here for you anymore. Just you.”

Sam raised his eyebrow, but his bottom lip quivered again. “Yeah, welcome to the conversation and situation,” he said. “Thought you were aware of it.”

“I was, but...” Dean closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath in the safety of darkness. “I didn't really _get_ it, get it, you know?”

“I'm getting that,” Sam said softly.

Dean opened his eyes and locked his gaze on Sam, whose eyes were glistening again. “Sammy I'm sorry,” he said, and he choked up, his throat closing on him without his permission. “I got you into this-”

He'd gotten Sam into all of this to start with, years ago that one Christmas day. He'd saved him, though, been there to pull him out of what he'd thrust on his brother. He couldn't pull Sam out of this one, though.

“And I'll get us out of it.”

Dean refocused on his brother, whose eyes were still too bright in the dim light from outside. He was determined, though, and Dean could only nod. “Okay,” he whispered back.

Sam gave a small smile, before he turned and glanced at the clock behind him. “Christmas morning,” he said quietly. “It's official.”

“It's not even four in the morning, Sam,” Dean said, but Sam was turning back to him with a grin anyways.

“So long as it's past midnight, it's the 25th, Dean. That makes it Christmas.”

The date didn't really mean anything. What made it Christmas was a brother who, despite being down one fingernail, was still there. They were both alive, both smiling, both ready to face the morning and the rest of the world. That made it Christmas.

And if Dean was being sappy, he was fully allowed it, today of all days. It was frickin' _Christmas_. If you weren't sappy today, you weren't a man. There had to be a rule on that, somewhere.

“Then I get my gift,” Dean said with a sigh, before laying back on the bed, arms folded beneath his head. “Which is sleep.”

“Dean?”

“Mm-hm?”

“You're on my bed.”

“And? I'm comfy where I'm at, thanks.”

He couldn't see Sam's annoyed face, but he sure as hell could tell that it was being employed, and he grinned. “Go sleep in my bed, bitch,” he said.

There was no sound for a moment, then the springs groaned and Sam's weight disappeared from the bed. Dean shifted and pushed himself back into the bed further, a content smile on his face.

Until he heard the unmistakable sound of the door opening, and knew exactly what Sam was going to do. He wasn't stupid; he'd seen the snow outside before they'd gone to bed.

He was out of bed in an instant and hurrying towards the door. If he only had a few months left, then he was going to make them count, starting right now. He was going to be with his brother until the very last minute, and try to find some way to not leave him alone completely. Maybe even let him research again; he'd put a firm stop to it a month earlier.

For the moment, however, the only thing Sam needed to know was how to recover from being tackled into the snow.


End file.
